A Requiem for This Dead Scene
by EverlastingImpression
Summary: A backstory following a character found in LadyCordeliaStuart's SYOT Hunger Games story. This follows the character Tariq Bluegrass, a grain harvester Reaped from District 9 who is too loyal and dependent for his own good and has demonstrated a martyr complex. This backstory shows where the character came from and how he ended up the Tribute he was in Back to Normal.


Hello, readers! I hope you enjoy this compilation of stories from Tariq's youth before he entered the Games. The character in question has been submitted to the story Back to Normal by LadyCordeliaStuart. One of my favorite authors, I trusted her with a character that took a lot of thought to come up worth. I hope you all enjoy this story, and I hope it helps followers of the main story empathize with his character and see another side of him. Enjoy!

Also, two of the sections are marked with a trigger warning.

 **Tariq POV. Age 11**

We needed to stay hidden. Mother would be furious if she found out.

I held the warm bundle against my chest, willing the squirming pup to remain silent as I carried it into towards the shed. I routinely looked over my shoulder and towards the house, each time relieved to see that the light still stayed off. Last I had seen, mother was lying in bed, accompanied by a bottle of whiskey. Elijah and I both knew not to disturb her when she was cradled with the grimy bottle, but the occasional black eye or reddened cheek would remind us if we forgot.

Elijah giggled almost as loudly as the pups whimpered, and despite my nervousness I couldn't help but smile. His pup was almost too big for him to carry, and it dangled near the stony pathed ground as he carried it along towards the dilapidated, moss covered wooden shed. Before we left I offered to carry the pup instead, but he insisted on holding the biggest. Little kids were like that, especially Elijah.

I shoved the pup awkwardly into the crook of my left elbow as I freed my right hand, reaching for the door to the shed. It took several tugs and even more curses before the door finally relented with a protesting creak. I let Elijah enter first, and he rested the pup against an old blanket. I set mine next to his.

"I-I think there's some hay near the wheelbarrow,'' I commented, frowning as I contemplated the best way to keep the pups warm. "Can you watch- watch- watch them? I'll be back.''

He nodded, and I turned away, pulling open the shed door again as I stepped into cool autumn air with a shiver. The earlier events came back to me as I returned to the mound of fur, crimson blood shining black in the light from dusk. I kneeled beside the coyote, gently raising her foreleg as I removed the sickle from her ribcage. A squelching emanated from her corpse, and I tried not to gag as viscera followed the blade. Noticing her dark, blank eyes, I decided to rest my hand against the lids to press them down gently. After staying there for a few moments, I whispered, "I'm so sorry."

"We should bury her." I started in surprise as Elijah's voice came from behind me, and I glanced up at him. I hadn't expected him to follow me. "It seems wrong to leave her there."

"You think?" I questioned, looking away. Wrapping my arms around the stiff body, I cradled it into my arms. She was still somewhat warm from life that had since been cruelly ripped from her, and I tried to ignore the bloodstains spreading onto my shirt. I continued, "W-where?"

"By the shed, where we put her pups," he decided, offering his hand to help me to my feet. I accepted it because the coyote was so heavy. I followed him to the shed, where he grabbed a shovel and handed it to me. I set the animal down and began to dig while he continued, "You know, she's just like you."

I didn't reply, instead just kept digging. Elijah was right. She only wanted to protect her young, and when Elijah got too close, she did what she felt she must. I couldn't help but to respect the animal, resting my hand against the soft fur of her flank and stroking the brown pelt gently as I prepared to lower her in the hole. She didn't know that my little brother was never a threat to her. However, she was a threat to him. The threat needed to be eliminated, and there was no room to regret killing her. The coyote was not a part of my pack, so her life was not my responsibility. It was simple, really. Black and white. Us and them. Once she was set inside, I began to shovel the dirt back over the corpse. I did what I needed to do. I didn't hesitate then, and I wouldn't hesitate again.

 **Cassius POV**

 **Tariq's age: 15**

Some boy stole grain from Ricky Row. Again.

Another day in perdition. Again.

I walked through the dusty street silently; my only company the pattering of raindrops against my uniform. It was oddly comforting to know that water surrounded me as opposed to fire as it would be an in actual hell, but I didn't suppose I would know the difference. My father said I needed to make him proud. I needed to pick a poison. I could either pursue Victory in the Hunger Games (along with the absurdly low 4% chance of survival- no, thanks though Dad. Love you too) or follow my uncle's footsteps as a Peacekeeper. Father's heart was in the right place. He ruined his future as a Peacekeeper by having a son with my mother. He didn't want me to do the same.

I was a good little soldier. I did what I was told, and I didn't know what I would do without orders from my superiors. That was my reasoning for marching towards the little house down the lane to reprimand the Harvest family for thievery. I knew a good flogging would be effective.

A flash of lightning caused me to start in shock, and I chided myself inwardly as I approached the front door. I pounded my hand against the wooden door in my classic rhythm and waited for it to open.

Finally it cracked open, and a head peaked out from behind it. From the olive toned skin, black hair and dark hazel eyes, I knew him to be John Harvest's step son, Tariq. Almost certainly he was the one who stole the grain, and the way his expression changed upon seeing me confirmed it. At first he had a welcoming smile, but that didn't last. His eyes widened and the color drained from his face. He opened his mouth and closed it several times, uttering the occasional squeak. I waited for him to say something until I remembered that he had a speech impediment.

"I'm coming in,'' I said, opening the door and shoving my way in. Tariq cowered in response, clearly upset about having a Peacekeeper in his home, but despite his passive behavior I noticed a glint of challenge in his eyes. It didn't seem to match his frayed, flowery apron. Sure, I was only a few years older than him, but this boy needed to learn some respect. "Some grain went missing, and Mr. Row is not pleased. Are you aware of this?''

"Give me- me- me a moment,'' Tariq finally uttered, turning his back to me and headed towards the kitchen. The abrupt smell of burned food came suddenly, and I grimaced. What were they doing? I looked on curiously. "Elijah, you need to stir the pasta or it will stick and burn.''

"Stolen grain?'' I asked, raising an eyebrow. Tariq tensed, ignoring me as he scraped the burned pasta vigorously with a wooden fork. He seemed desperate to save the stuck pieces. Everyone knew the boy who was stirring a saucepan of red sauce. If I didn't know better, I wouldn't have known they were half-brothers. Elijah's skin was the palest I'd ever seen in District 9. I didn't think he worked a day in his life. He probably leeched off his brother. Lucky him. While Tariq seemed relatively suspicious of me, Elijah's grin was so wide and eyes so welcoming I felt taken aback. He wore an old party hat that jutted out the side of his blond hair. Originally it boasted a 5th birthday. It had since been crossed out, and new numbers were subsequently added. Apparently this was his 12th birthday. I figured there was no harm in being friendly to the cheerful child. The world was cruel enough as it was; may as well keep him happy until he figured it out. The thought of a cynical Elijah made me feel a twinge of pity. I was happy once. Now I was numb. "Happy birthday."

"Thank you!'' Elijah exclaimed with a grin. Even Tariq seemed to relax, gazing at his younger brother with undisguised joy. I couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm. I wondered how long it would last. He was acting like he'd just turned five, not twelve. "I made dinner! You should stay.''

"I-,'' I frowned, unsure of how to respond. I was sent here to punish Tariq for thievery, not sit down and gorge myself on the fruit of his sins. Still, I hated old Mr. Row as much as anyone did. Unfortunately that corrupt businessman made twice my salary. May as well spite him and get a free meal in the process. A few months ago I'd have been terrified of losing my job and being turned into an Avox, but I didn't care so much anymore. "I suppose.''

 **Stay With Me**

 **Tariq's age: 15**

 **Trigger warning issued for substance abuse and suicide.**

Working was hard that day. It was the beginning of the harvest, and it was dusk by the time I arrived home. The old door creaked as I stepped into the kitchen, and immediately an unusual silence greeted by arrival. I knew John would be working late tonight and Elijah was with a friend, but my mother was almost always there to greet me. Sometimes she'd give me a happy hug. Sometimes she'd slap me. Other times she'd sob into my shoulder, distraught about how alone she felt all day. Yet today, there was nothing. Considering the way she begged me to skip work and stay behind with her to play cards all day, I was sure she'd be desperate to greet me as I walked in.

I crept into the house carefully, picking up a loose piece of wood from the floorboards. Robberies weren't uncommon, and I didn't want to find myself in a state where I couldn't defend my mother. Heart pounding nervously in my chest, I pushed open the door separating the kitchen and entrance from the bedroom, carefully allowing it to creep open. A foot stepped on some shattered glass, nearly slipping on some spilled whisky, and I entered the room with anticipation to nail a sorry burglar about the head and shoulders.

Then I saw her raised above the bed as I craned my neck to study the ceiling, and finally I understood. A knot set in my stomach, and now I knew that I never should have gone into work today. I should have stayed home with her. We'd have played cards and laughed and shared stories and-

Iciness set in me, and I simply backed out of the room while quietly shutting the door. It latched silently, just as she liked it, and I grabbed a fresh bottle of whiskey as I passed through the kitchen. My stash of money came next, revealing it from where it was carefully hidden behind the oven. Shrouded by a veil of blankness, I left the house and began to stumble down the street, raising the bottle to my lips as I took in the sharp flavored and allowed it to dribble down my chin and onto my shirt. Mother drank away her sorrows. Perhaps it was time that I started. Even though I'd never tasted alcohol before, I hardly noticed its flavor. I simply felt detached.

A hand on my shoulder stopped my mindless march, and my eyes traveled up to its owner. Apparently Cassius was off duty since he was wearing civilian clothing, and my Panem did he look awful in overalls. A small giggle escaped me, and this small release of emotional sent off the rest. His hand was an anchor to reality, and the rest was a flood. Soon I'd thrown my arms around the Peacekeeper, ruining those ridiculous overalls with a mixture wave of whiskey and tears. I blubbered something I never remembered after my inevitable hangover, but somehow the message of my mother's death was conveyed. Cassius pushed me away gently and headed towards my home. I never considered following him, instead continuing to walk alone. I was aware of my screams and sobs reverberating through the streets, but no one else bothered to see what was wrong. Following that was a haze of darkness. Coldness. Tiredness.

Hidden safely inside a drugged stupor of alcohol and morphling, it would be months before I felt again. It was better than accepting the fact that her death was my fault.

If only I'd stayed home.

 **Alleyway**

 **Elijah POV**

 **Tariq's age: 15**

 **Trigger warning issued for substance abuse and mentions of suicide.**

Cassius gave me the news. Apparently he'd stayed on our porch all night after cutting down and hauling away my mother's corpse, waiting for someone to arrive home. When I found him, he looked awful, with dark circles under his eyes from remaining awake the whole time. I responded to the news predictably. I sobbed like any other boy who lost his mother. He stayed until my father arrived home, and then he was gone for good.

Cassius was no help to me in finding Tariq. My father asked his employees to keep a look out for my brother, but I don't believe that anyone even bothered. Eventually we all simply assumed he'd made the same choice as our mother. As sick as it made me feel, suicide was the most logical cause of his disappearance. I mourned both deaths equally.

It is a part of the human condition to move along eventually. If we couldn't adapt to the circumstances of our miserable world, then how would we ever continue as a species? I went back to school. I spent time with my friends. By most accounts, my grief was considered natural. Healthy even. Life changed, and I changed with it. Imagine my surprise when I found out otherwise.

I was walking with a friend of mine to the butcher stop, keeping her company. Cultiva didn't want to be alone since it was so late. We were scheming about the best way to get her together with a boy named Seeder when her voice suddenly trailed off.

"Elijah," she murmured, stopping as she stared at something behind me, "I'm sorry if I'm bringing up unhappy memories. Please forgive me if I am, but the homeless guy over there looks strikingly like your brother."

I would have missed him otherwise. He looked terrible. There he was, curled under a pile of filth with his arms wrapped around a rotting bone from the butcher shop. He shifted slightly as if he knew he was addressed, but for the most part he stayed asleep. This homeless fellow didn't just look like Tariq. I knew my brother anywhere, and without replying I moved to his side. I tried to avoid touching the vomit crusted around his face.

"Tariq?" I whispered, brushing a hand across his forehead while kneeling beside him. He was burning up, clearly running a fierce fever. His eyes blinked at mine, but he didn't seem to acknowledge my existence. A strange rattling noise came from him, but I doubted that it came from recognition of me. I noticed an empty syringe held limply in his hand and the needle marks on the crook of his other arm. Taking it from him, I continued, "Oh, what have you been doing to yourself?"

"He's overdosed," Cultiva murmured, her voice soft as if she didn't want to overstep her boundaries. She moved to Tariq's other side, trying to move her shoulder under his. "Come on. Help him up."

I didn't stay incapacitated with shock long, even if it felt like a ghost had returned to haunt me. I helped his limp body up as well. Luckily the doctor wasn't far, and I don't think we could have carried him much longer as we deposited Tariq in the office. The doctor mostly just seemed surprised. She didn't expect to be there so late, dealing with an overdosed druggie. Usually her patients had more class. However I had enough money on me to convince her to treat him, and he surprisingly survived the night.

It took months for him to heal. My father was reluctant to let him into the house, but he gave me five months to get Tariq healthy and back to work. Some days it was too much. He'd hide drugs in the house, and I'd have to hunt them down and throw them away. He'd mumble nonsensical things, question why I bothered to save a "murderer". He didn't know why I didn't let him just self-destruct. I don't think he ever accepted that our mother's death was not his fault, but he did eventually get sober. Four months later, and he was in the fields again, reconnecting with old friends. He confided in me that he was sure they didn't want him there since he'd left them. Tariq confided with me for everything, and some days I hated him for it. He continued to treat me like a child, and I don't think he ever came to realize that I had grown up in his absence.

Things were surprisingly normal afterward. Tariq worked hard for money we didn't need. Tariq helped me with homework I already understood. Tariq confronted bullies I never had.

Tariq, Tariq, Tariq. He was the protector I no longer needed, but I couldn't tell him that in the fear the truth would break his heart.

I'd moved on. Him coming back just hurt more.

 **Capture the Flag**

 **Tariq POV**

 **Tariq's age: 16**

"G-go around the side and flank Hayden,'' I hissed to the girl next to me. In the dark I had a tough time identifying her at first, but now that I heard her voice I could make a plan for her. Rosie was admirable for her speed, and I knew she could make it into an offensive position to attract the attention of Hayden and his team mates. "Try to lead them away from Barley.''

"On it,'' Rosie replied, and after a soft rustle against the grain, she was gone. I moved silently in the opposite direction, carefully considering the environment around me. This was the territory of Hayden's team, and I couldn't get caught. The stealthiest of our group, I was usually the scout. I had already identified the positions of the flag and the jail. One of my faster teammates, my friend Barley, was in charge of capturing the flag. He was about as stealthy as I was, but he was much faster. He was the perfect teammate to make the capture. Hayden had already outwitted me, taking three of my teammates prisoner. It was my fault. My strategy for this game did not prove to be effective.

Rosie, Barley, and I were the only ones left. Once I arrived in the location of my team's flag, I hid carefully behind an unusual large rock. Ideally I wouldn't be the one protecting the flag. It did help to have me undetected in the shadows nearby, but I probably couldn't be fast enough to catch anyone brave enough to wander too close. I didn't feel much surprise when I heard the grain rustle as Hayden's teammates came into view. I crouched below eye level, watching them approach. Evidently their scout already knew the location of our flag and reported it to them because they came straight towards me. They spoke in low, incoherent whispers. They didn't know I watched them from afar.

"-caught Rosie,'' I heard. Sighing, I knew it was time to be creative. I was relying on her. Reaching a hand into the soft dirt, I felt around and eventually came across a rock the size of my palm and another one nearby. Raising it, I tossed it in the opposite direction of the flag. The whispers stopped before quickly resuming again, questioning whether or not they heard something. I tossed the second one, aiming a few feet further than the first. Immediately they turned and fled, running by me while one hissed, "That's where the flag is!"

I breathed a sigh of relief, collecting more stones. It was the best I could do to distract them away from the flag, buying me time for Barley to get their flag. They'd figure it out eventually though. A few minutes later, I heard the thunderous stomping of footsteps that indicated a chase. Peeking my head out from behind the rock, I watched as Barley held their flag, nearing our border. A member from the opposite team was in hot pursuit, and Hayden snuck up on them with the hope of flanking Barley. It was time for me to get involved since he was within feet of my teammate. With a howl, I burst out of my hiding place, covering the distance between us and slamming my body into Hayden. He hit the ground with a gasp, and Barley crossed the border. We had won. I reached a hand down to help Hayden up, but he slapped me away. I flinched in surprise.

"You don't have to be so competitive," he spat, pushing himself to his feet while casting a glare at me. He headed off to join his team. A call then split the air, informing all players of our victory. While my teammates gathered around to celebrate their victory, I hung back. My shoulders hunched, I didn't move to join them. I knew Hayden didn't want me. None of them did.

"Alright, Tariq's team," our referee, Cassius, continued with one of his rare grins, "You are tonight's winners. As a reward, I'll pretend that I didn't catch all of you stealing Mr. Row's grain!"

I used his voice and my teammates' cheers to slink away, wishing I had never been there.

 **Dreams and Aspirations**

 **Cassius POV**

 **Tariq's age: 17**

I used a rag to wipe the blood off my hands, grimacing at the bloodstains already present on the once white fabric. I tried not to think about who it came from. I'd hurt so many people since being stationed in District 9. It was a notoriously easy district to maintain, but that didn't mean my hands were clean.

They underestimated District 9. It didn't belong to the Capitol. It didn't belong to the Rebels. It didn't even belong to the mayor, who was a puppet for the real man in charge, Ricky Row. The story of how Ricky Row came into power of this District was before my time, but the underground crime organizations ruled unanimously. The Peacekeepers were powerless. We knew it was happening, but there was nothing we could do. Ricky had dirt on all of my superiors, and he paid them a princely sum for their silence. Not me though. For the first time, I didn't have the blood of an innocent on my hands. I killed one of Ricky's closest supporters. I didn't have a choice; he was beating his son to a pulp for stealing grain. If I couldn't even help the boy, then what was I worth?

"Are- are- are you okay?'' I paused when I heard the familiar voice. I wasn't sure if he was necessarily a friend, but I trusted Tariq more than I did anyone else in this forsaken District. I turned my head to acknowledge him. He was staring at me, head tilted in curiosity while his lips were pulled in a concerned frown. He cared about me. How sweet. "I heard about Hayden's d-d-dad. Is- is- is-''

"Hayden will be fine,'' I interrupted. Tariq was probably too nervous to finish his statement, so I did it for him. Once reassured that his friend survived, he visibly relaxed, beaming at me with unmistakable gratitude. He shouldn't thank me. I may have done one right thing, but if I were to be judged in the same way I was judging the bloodstained cloth, there would be no hope of redemption for my sins. Tariq didn't need to hear my cynical thoughts, so I simply said, "Happy to help.''

Tariq narrowed his eyes, more passion in his gaze than I was familiar with from him. I only ever saw him like this when he felt Elijah was in danger, so I raised an eyebrow. He opened his mouth to speak. I handed him a notepad instead. He tossed the purple scarf he was knitting over his left shoulder as he took it and began to write. I waited as his untidy scrawl marked the paper. I hoped it would be legible. Eventually he handed it to me.

 _All this pain. I wish there was something we could do to help._

"What do you mean?'' I asked, now curious. His handwriting was better than I thought it would be. I was relieved.

 _I wish parents were nicer here. Are parents better in 2? I hope so._

"I suppose so,'' I decided after a moment's pause. Sure, when they weren't expecting their children to enter a death match to stroke their own egos. Parents were pitiful in District 2 as well. I couldn't raise my right arm above my head because of my father, and my thoughts were constantly plagued with negativity from my mother's constant criticism. His eyes were filled with so much hope, I didn't want to break the truth to him. "They could be."

 _Where you come from, are there people who help the kids who are hurt by their parents? What about the orphans? The disabled?_

"You mean a social worker?'' I suggested. Mining could be dangerous in District 2. Plenty of people were hurt doing it. "We have some of those. They help people figure out their lives in the event of an unusual situation.''

 _I want to be a social worker._

"It doesn't work like that, champ. There's not enough money for that,'' I replied, shaking my head. "Seriously. You'd need the Hunger Games or something for that."

 _You're a Peacekeeper. Can't you fix this?_

I snorted. With a touch of bitterness, I replied, "A poor example of one.''

 _So you won't even try?_

When I didn't reply, he finally spoke. "You're a coward, Cassius.'' He was right. I thought I could save people by seeking freedom away from the Hunger Games. I was wrong. This was even worse.

 **Tariq POV**

 **Tariq's age: 18**

"I'm so sorry, boys,'' father murmured, wringing his hands as he avoided meeting our eyes. You will need to take twice as much tesserae this year than you did last year.''

"Twice as much? W-why?'' I asked, voice rising in surprise. I rested a hand on Elijah's shoulder, seeking his presence to remain calm. I didn't want to yell at father. It wasn't as if he ever hurt me, but I could never be sure there wouldn't be a first time. He might change his mind someday. ''But- but you've been working overtime all year, and so have I! Even Elijah has a job now.''

"I know. It's just that the Peacekeepers are raising taxes,'' father continued awkwardly, raising a hand to rub his balding, silver scalp. ''The money isn't there anymore.''

"Are you gambling again?'' Elijah questioned before I could open my mouth to respond. His voice was quiet and careful, but it held a note of iciness.

"I'm in debt,'' he murmured in response, a sheepish smile forming on his face. "I borrowed money from old Ricky Row, but I lost it. You know how Ricky is about money. He wants it back.''

"You plan to sell our tesserae?'' Elijah demanded, narrowing his eyes in betrayal. I was angry too. My grip tightened on my brother's shoulder, and he rested his hand against my elbow in an effort to calm me. "We need food.''

"Elijah,'' father murmured, forehead creasing in remorse. He reached forward, resting his hands on Elijah's shoulders and pulling him closer to him. I gave a hiss in protest, stepping forward. Father still did not acknowledge me, and I possessed enough restraint to avoid challenging him. "I never wanted you to take tesserae. I wish you didn't have to take it this year. I thought… I thought you wouldn't until Tariq turned 18.''

"I-I will take the tesserae,'' I objected, tilting my head to look father in the eye. "Elijah will not take tesserae this year. He doesn't need it. You don't need to pay for my schooling this year. I'll work overtime in the fields and get another job with… with...''

"You underestimate how much I owe,'' father interrupted, keeping one arm locked around Elijah's shoulders. After attempting to stare me in the eye for a moment, he dropped his gaze in shame. "You already will not be attending school next year. I didn't sign you up. You will take the maximum amount of tesserae allowed. Elijah will cover the rest.''

I stared at my father, jaw dropped in shock. I must have looked rather comical in that moment, but I felt no humor. Instead my stomach was flip flopping in nervousness and devastation. In a few moments, my world shattered. Everyone took tesserae in District 9. Everyone except Elijah, and that's how I credited his survival. I was Tariq. I was indestructible. Elijah was my little brother. He was so delicate. I needed to protect him. Even now, I wanted to yank him away from father. Father was the threat. If I could forget about him, perhaps I could save Elijah.

Apparently Elijah could take care of himself. He shot his father a nasty look before pulling out of his embrace. "We split the tesserae,'' my brother spat, an uncharacteristic amount of venom in his voice. I flinched, even if his rage wasn't directed towards me. "50/50. It's only fair.''

"Fine,'' father replied. Elijah flinched in surprise, and I knew he expected a fight. I knew better. Father didn't intend to sign us up for equal tesserae, and I felt gratitude for that. Any chance to prevent the Capitol stealing my brother. They didn't deserve him. "Fine. We'll do that.''

Elijah nodded, clearly satisfied. After glancing at us both wearily, he turned and fled the house. I heard the door slam and flinched in response. Once I was sure he was gone, I spoke. "You- you don't intend to allow Elijah that much tesserae.''

"Of course not,'' he replied without looking at me. A subtle threat crept into his voice as he continued, "You know what happens if Elijah is Reaped, yes?''

"I would volunteer,'' I replied without hesitation. I couldn't allow Elijah to leave me. Even without my step father's threat, I would have felt the same way. No one got to have him but me. "Elijah will never be a tribute.''

 **Elijah POV**

 **Tariq's age: 18**

I felt too nervous to watch District 9's escort, instead staring at my scuffed shoes while softly humming a familiar tune. It reminded me of light and warmth, an optimistic reminder of the goodness that still existed in my world. I knew it was still there, but each day that passed seem to viciously tear apart my idealism. I feared pessimism. I feared the day I would lose my song.

When I finally raised my head to stare forward, I scanned the crowd eagerly for some semblance of Tariq's shaggy black hair. After a brief moment of panic, I found him in the center of the eighteen year olds. He had his arms wrapped around the boy next to him, who I recognized as one of Tariq's friends. I didn't know his name, but my heart broke for him as he broke into sobs and hid his face in my brother's shoulder. When Tariq turned his head to accommodate this, his gaze finally fell on me. The familiar hazel orbs were wide with anxiety and fear, and I knew mine matched his. I forced a smile to him, and after staring at me for a few moments he smiled back. A symbol of hope, it still did nothing to conquer the fear etching his features. It didn't conquer mine either.

The sound of a sniffle distracted me, and I turned to glance at the boy beside me. He kept his head high, trying to seem brave, but he remained unable to stop the tears from streaking down his dusty face. I reached into my pocket and pull out a handkerchief. I washed it a few days prior, so I didn't feel bad about allowing him to use it. I nudged his elbow and held it out for him.

"Th-thank you,'' he murmured, using it to dab at the tears running down his face. "It means a lot.''

"I'm scared too,'' I whispered in reply, careful not to disturb the Peacekeepers beside me. Since I stood with my left to the aisle, they routinely patrolled by during the video. "What's your name? I'm Elijah.''

"Does it matter?'' he asked, melancholic. "One of us might be dead soon.''

I blinked, studying him carefully before replying, "You'll be fine. Don't worry.''

He grunted in response. After a moment of silence, he asked with a touch of hope, "If I get Reaped, would you volunteer for me then?''

I couldn't help but snort at this preposterous request. "Fat chance.''

"Worth a try, though. Right?'' After staring at me in the awkward silence for a moment, we both burst out laughing at the improbability and impracticality of the situation. The Peacekeepers shot us a dirty look, but we ignored them. Peacekeepers are notoriously soft in District 9. We are a peaceful group, and we generally avoid rebellion like the plague. There was no point fearing an uprising in District 9, so they probably couldn't be bothered by a couple of rowdy boys. After we managed to take a breath, he added, "Eddie. My name is Eddie.''

"Well, dear Eddie,'' I replied with a grin, resting one hand on his shoulder. With the other hand, I made a mock toast. "Here's to hopefully not dying this year.''

"This year's male tribute from District 9 is Tariq Bluegrass!'' Although Eddie's grin widened as he prepared a reply, I never heard the words he spoke next. Transfixed by the escort's fateful words, I was too busy trying to find the right emotion to respond. One moment, I found joy with a new acquaintance I probably would never see again. The next, I found myself in a moment of cheerlessness. A few streaks of ecstasy mixed with my despair, and even as I processed the situation the grin did not melt off my face. When I finally did understand, my jaw dropped in shock. Clearly Eddie knew something was wrong, as he began to stare at me with concern. He couldn't possibly know how I felt. My heart felt heavy, and I wondered if it literally broke. Was the blood seeping through my insides? Was I truly bleeding?

A sickening howl from the eighteen year old's section forced me to make a decision. The boy Tariq comforted moments prior now shoved my resistant brother towards the aisle. Tariq stared at me with the wide eyes of a begging prey animal, devoured by the boys in the section as they rejected him like a filthy beast, terrified of catching the same disease afflicted upon him. Eventually the animalistic noise turned coherent. "E-Elijah!''

Moments prior, I stood planted. Now I ran, desperate to reach Tariq in time. We weren't too far away from each other. I could make it. I didn't know what I would do once I reached him, but I felt sure I could save him somehow. Hope flourished on his face when he noticed my imminent arrival, and he reached out a hand towards me. The tears streaming down his face must have matched mine, and I few strides later I felt a sense of surprise as I reached him. His hand enveloped mine, grasping it tightly as he tried to pull me towards him. His embrace was my intended destination, but I never made it. Instead the Peacekeepers decided to finally pull us apart. Tariq's fingernails dug into my skin in resistance. He screamed, "n-no! I won't let go! I-I won't let go!''

The shredding of his nails through my flesh elicited a pained gasp from me, but it was less from the physical pain and more from the way his face contorted into a grotesque expression of anguish. I remained helpless in the arms of the Peacekeepers as they held me in place, demanding my compliance. Of course I'm not going to comply while they haul my brother off to his imminent demise, and I tried telling them so.

Once they pulled him to the stage, I watched as his nails dug into the concrete and he continued to shriek. The fingernails remained embedded in the steps as his body moved forward, and as the Peacekeepers dragged him towards the escort I watched the trail of blood expanding. Evidently they thought that once Tariq was on the stage, he would stay there. However as soon as they let go, my brother lunged forward again, screaming, "h-he needs me! You can't make me leave him!''

Over his screams, no one could hear the escort as for a volunteer, but I knew the question was posed as his eyes met mine. My breath hitched, and I felt my arm tense in preparation. Could I really do this? Did I really want to die for my brother?

Tariq must have noticed my arm begin to raise. Abruptly, he stopped screaming, staring me in the eye and responding with one simple motion. He shook his head.

Finally I understood. My brother did not want to die, but above that he did not want to lose me. He fought now because he didn't want to do this alone. He couldn't live without me, but I could live without him. I honored his wish, a flurry of remorse in my heavy heart. Yet I didn't lower my arm because of his desire; I lowered my arm because I was not willing to sacrifice myself for him.

I stared at the trail of blood, watching as Tariq continued to flail like a desperate fish out of water. Peacekeepers continued to pin him to the ground. I would not save him, and yet I would be okay.

 **Goodbye**

 **Elijah POV**

 **Tariq's age: 18**

I didn't walk to the Justice Building, I ran there. By the time I got to the doors, I felt out of breath. They let me in, and a kinder Peacekeeper I recognized as Cassius led me towards Tariq's room.

"You may want to wait a few minutes,'' Cassius suggested. I glanced at him confusion, and he continued, "Tariq has been noncompliant. I am concerned he may turn aggressive, so I suggest you wait for him to calm down.''

"Fat chance,'' I growled, turning my back to him. It was the second time I'd use the silly phrase in one day, and I couldn't help pondering the irony of it. The first time, I felt amused. Now I just felt broken. "I'm seeing my brother now.''

"Suit yourself,'' Cassius replied with a shrug, pulling his keys of his belt to open the door to Tariq's room. I tapped a foot in impatience as he fiddled with the keys, cursing as he tried to find the right one. "I wish I could give you two more than five minutes. Seems like you'd need it.''

The door creaked open, and I didn't bother replying to Cassius. I understood his desire to be kind, but I only wanted to see Tariq. Maybe we could find a way out of this. Maybe Cassius would help. I glanced at him briefly with a touch of hope, but a firm shake of his head told me otherwise. I lowered my head and entered the room, unsure of what state I would find Tariq in.

Part of me expected to find him clawing at the door. Part of me expected him to be sobbing. Still another side feared he would hate me for not saving him. When I found him in the room, I stared at him in confusion. He had kicked off his shoes, revealing his mismatched star and striped socks as he lay sprawled out on a couch. Instead of the emotion I expected, I simply found him sleeping.

"Tariq?'' I didn't know why I spoke in a whisper. Perhaps there was something dangerously tranquil about him, as if he were the calm before a storm. If I wasn't careful, I could set off a hurricane. "I'm here now. Are you okay? Tariq?''

"I'm sorry,'' he whispered, eyes opening and staring emptily at a nearby vase. I expected him to jump to his feet and hurl it at a wall, but he remained still. "I don't want to leave you.''

"You're coming home soon,'' I promised him, forcing a smile on my face. Physically, I knew he could survive. He was a good worker. Using a sickle to harvest wheat was different than using it to decapitate an angry Career, but I was sure that would come in time. I was more worried by the unresponsive look in his eyes. I feared he had given up. "Are you listening to me? Tariq?''

"I'm just t-tired,'' he murmured, his unfocused gaze finally transfixing on my face. With a sigh he sat up, and I occupied the free seat. He leaned against my shoulder, and I wrapped my arms around him tightly. It was like the day I found him in the alleyway, nearly dead. I brought him back then. I feared nothing could bring him back now. I used my handkerchief to wrap his bloody hands where the fingernails used to be. His eyes closed, and we didn't say another word.

We stayed still, the only sound coming from our breathing. Eventually the door cracked up, and Cassius stood in the doorway. I could see my father and a group of Tariq's friends waiting outside, but my brother simply shook his head.

"Alright, get back. All of you, get back. He wants to be alone right now,'' Cassius said to the others. Tariq gave him a quick, appreciative nod, and the Peacekeeper replied with, "You've had your five minutes, Elijah. You need to come out now.''

"I love you so much,'' I whispered, choking back tears as I sat up and gave him a hug. He reciprocated. "Please come back. Please.''

Tariq nodded, evidently too emotional to speak. He didn't need to say it. His eyes, alight with rekindled passion, told the whole story. My brother hadn't given up. Perhaps he was coming home.

I didn't start to cry until I left the room. Cassius glanced at me before awkwardly kneeling down, taking my hand in his. I glanced at him with surprise as he used a rag to bandage my shredded hand. He never spoke, but the small gesture from usually such a bitter man made me cry harder at the small brightness of it.

It would be okay. Even if it wasn't okay, I'd adapt. For that was the human condition. I would move along, just as I always had.


End file.
